Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Leo’s back. He hunched deeper into the shadows of the alley, the damp brick clinging to his borrowed clothes. The neon sign of the bar across the street pulsed with an erratic rhythm, mirroring the frantic beat in his chest. His heart hammered a violent tattoo against his ribs.

He hadn't signed the papers. He’d never agreed. Yet, there it was, the massive mural splashed across the bar’s facade, in his style, in his name. It was like a ghost of him, a distorted echo, staring down at him with those vibrant colours and aggressive lines. He pressed his face against his knees, wanting to disappear.

A couple strolled past, pointing and laughing. He heard them comment, “Amazing artist.” He wanted to run, to scream, to explain. He swallowed, the words stuck in his throat, a bitter lump.